


hell was the journey but it brought me heaven

by jessicawhitly



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, this started as a 5+1 then turned into a 7+1 because well it's Philinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25854286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicawhitly/pseuds/jessicawhitly
Summary: Seven times Melinda said I love you, and one time Phil said it first.
Relationships: Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89





	hell was the journey but it brought me heaven

**Author's Note:**

> I...cannot believe AoS is ending tonight, friends. This show has been a journey, and while I have not loved every moment of it, I have loved Phil Coulson and Melinda May for every single second and I am going to miss them so, so much. I can't say if or when I will write fic for them again, but I wanted to finish and post this fic before the finale because it's been rattling around in my brain for months now. I hope you enjoy! Title is from Invisible String by Taylor Swift.

I. Act One

She feels hollow.

Bourbon doesn’t help, vodka doesn’t help; she can’t sleep more than a handful of hours at a time, and even then she’s haunted by nightmares. After a disastrous night in her own bed, she takes the key she still has to Phil’s apartment and makes her way past the doorman easily.

It’s spotless, unsurprisingly. She wonders when the last time he’d even been in it, between traveling with the Avengers and being on the helicarrier. The thought alone makes her chest ache, and she swallows heavily, eyes gazing around the rest of the space.

There’s a stack of books on the coffee table, and she thumbs through them, tears pricking her eyes at the sight of his handwriting in the margins. Phil had always left notes on the things he’d read; things he liked, things he disliked- quotes he wanted to remember. The sight of his scratchy, slanted letters is enough to send slices of pain through her chest, and Melinda shoves the books away, a sob leaving her lips as she swipes furiously at her eyes.

She disappears into his bedroom, emerging minutes later wrapped in one of his old shirts, and she knows right now she looks like every cliche in the book. But she can’t find it in herself to care, because Phil is _dead_ and she’s _alive_ and nothing is fair or right or just. So she curls up on the floor and drinks shot after shot of whiskey until the world blurs around the edges, soft and shimmering and blue.

Melinda doesn’t even consciously realize she has her phone in her hands until she’s dialing the familiar number, fingers pressing in the numbers she’s had memorized as long as her own. The ringing echoes against her ear, and she feels the tears that slip from her eyes trail down her cheeks, already damp.

“ _Hey, this is Phil. Sorry I missed you, leave your name and number and I’ll get ya back,_ ” she barely makes it through his voicemail message before she bursts into tears, and the words spill out of her, stumbling over each other as they fall from her mouth.

“You’re _gone_ ,” she sobs, chest heaving as she draws her knees up to her chest. “You- you promised, and now you’re gone, and what am I- what am I supposed to _do?_ ”

She rubs angrily at her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears, but they come too quickly, and she hiccups around the next sob.

“You left me here and I’m all alone and what am I supposed to- to do with all this- all this _love!_ ” she’s shouting by the time she finishes, angry and drunk and desperate to fix something that’s entirely unfixable. “Because I love you, you idiot, and now I can’t- I can’t even tell you…”

Melinda cuts herself off, muffling her cries into her hands, and with all her might throws her phone, hearing it shatter against the wall of Phil’s apartment.

_

Two days later, after Fury reads her into Tahiti, Melinda finds Maria at the Hub.

“I need you to hack into Phil’s phone messages,” she tells Maria, her voice flat; the brunette’s eyebrows contract together, studying her face, and Melinda swallows. “And erase the most recent voicemail from me. He can’t...hear it. When he gets back from his- vacation.”

Maria’s lips part, and before she can speak, Melinda presses forward.

“It interferes with Project Tahiti,” she interrupts whatever the Shield Agent starts to say, and Maria quiets, though her blue eyes shine with understanding.

“I’ll get it done,” Maria tells her, and Melinda nods, clearing her throat against the thickness suddenly lining it. She feels sick to her stomach and relieved all at once, and she wonders how long this feeling will last; knows that she has to keep this secret from Phil, no matter the personal cost. “This will be worth it, May.”

She looks up at the younger woman, and can’t even muster up a faked half-smile for her.

“It has to be, Maria,” is all she says, and grips her upper arm before walking away, into the heart of the Triskelion to make her way back to her own department. Each step sinks into her chest like lead, the weight of what the future would hold settling on her shoulders, and as Melinda clicks the button of the elevator she feels Maria’s sad gaze resting on her.

II. Act Two

“I didn’t do it for Fury, I did it for you! To protect you! I-” Melinda cuts herself off, feeling the words she’d sworn she’d never say out loud bubble in her throat. Phil’s face is carved with anger, and she doesn’t want to say them like this, but there’s something in his eyes that pushes her forward; allows her to continue speaking. “I  _ love you _ , Phil. To hear you were dead…”

Phil’s face contracts, working hard to remain blank, and Melinda feels something crack in her chest. The months of secret keeping feels like a ton of bricks, pressing against her shoulders, and her eyes burn as she searches her face.

“You may not believe me, but  _ that _ is the truth. And I have nothing to do with the clairvoyant, or this Hydra threat we’re up against. I just wanted to keep you safe,” she reiterates, wanting to make him understand. “You mean a lot to me, Phil. You mean...everything.”

She gestures to the bullet wound in her arm, nestled in his hands. “Hopefully this helps prove that.”

Phil stares at her, expression slack-jawed and wary, blue eyes full of pain and an anguish Melinda had never seen before. When he speaks, his voice is rough, and it sends an ache through her body she can’t properly articulate. “I wanna believe you. I wish I could. But you’ve used that- you’ve used...my feelings against me this whole time.”

“Phil…” she whispered, agonized, watching the way he winced- was saved from saying anything more by Ward’s appearance in the doorway. Melinda tried to catch Phil’s eye, but found he couldn’t even look at her.

She wondered if she’d ruined everything with three little words.

III. Act Three

The emptiness feels pervasive.

Phil stands in his office, unable to muster up the ability to move, uncomfortable in the sling- uncomfortable in his own body for the first time in fifty years- until he hears a ding at his computer. He groans, moving to open the reminder he’d set to review base footage. Skimming through, he deletes most of it- but he pauses at the footage from his office, jealousy turning his stomach at the sight of Melinda and Andrew.

He shouldn’t- it’s a breach of her privacy, and he feels dirty even as he clicks on the video.

But the sight of Melinda, seated on his desk just hours before, sends a stab of emotion through his chest. A glutton for punishment, Phil turns the volume up until he can hear them speaking, sinking further into his chair.

Andrew is chuckling, and Phil clears his throat, wishing he could drink.

“So,” he starts, and Phil watches Melinda’s face, eyes tracing the line of her jaw as she swallows the mouthful of scotch she’d taken. “Are you finally going to admit it?”

“Admit what?” she asks, eyebrows drawing together, and Andrew snorts, sitting forward in his chair, elbows digging into his knees. He cocks an eyebrow, studying her, and Melinda mirrors the expression, lines deepening around her mouth. Even now, there is something tired about her- something bone deep and harrowed, something even a good night’s sleep can’t fix. It’s been so many years of running and fighting and suffering.

Phil aches, wishing he knew how to fix it; how to make it better for her. How to make things enough for her; how to be enough for her.

“I realize you’ve agreed to come on vacation with me. Sit on a beach and drink things out of glasses with umbrellas and take a break for the first time in a long time,” Andrew starts slowly, and Phil isn’t even looking at him- just watches the play of the muscles in Melinda’s face, the pit of his stomach hollow and nauseous. “But I just need to know, before we go. Are you ready to admit that you love him?”

That pulls something onto Melinda’s face- her eyes go wide, and she swallows, lips thinning as she pulls them into a line.

“Why?” she asks, and her non-denial sends Phi’s heart beating faster. Andrew sips at his scotch, regarding her, and takes a moment to answer.

“Let’s think of it as a way to start fresh. Start something...new,” he tells her, and for a moment all Phil hears is his own breathing.

“Nothing will be gained by hearing something you already know, it seems,” Melinda’s voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it. “And I won’t confirm a love that has nothing to do with you.”

Andrew’s answering chuckle is softer, watching Melinda slide off the desk like liquid.

“Oh, I think we both know you’re wrong there, Mel,” he says, leaning back in the chair and shaking his head. “It’s always had a little bit to do with me.”

Melinda’s face is expressionless, and she sets her glass to the side.

“I’m going to pack. I’ll be ready to ten,” she says, and slips from the room without another word. Andrew finishes his own drink, and Phil watches his own empty office for a long while, trying not to mull over the words.

His fingers curl around his phone, itching to dial the number he knew by heart- but he keeps his phone in his pocket, and moves the footage to the trash.

Phil sits in the silence for a long time.

IV. Act Four

The base is quiet; Daisy had been sedated in the hours after Lincoln’s death, succumbing to dreamless sleep.

Melinda finds Phil in his office, a glass of whiskey in his hand, though he’s mostly staring into space when she shuts the door softly behind her. He looks up at the noise, and his lips twitch into an almost smile as Melinda comes to join him, settling beside him on the couch lightly.

“How’s Daisy?” he asks quietly, and she shrugs.

“Jemma gave her a shot of something, she should sleep for a while,” she answers, rubbing her palms on her thighs. “I think it’s going to be hard for her. For a long time.”

Pain crossed Phil’s face, and after only a moment Melinda’s fingers slid into his.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, squeezing gently. “We’ll be here.”

He nods, something in his eyes softening, and Melinda’s expression mirrors his, feeling her lips curl into the smallest of smiles.

“You should get some rest. We all need it,” she tells him, untangling their fingers and standing, moving back towards the door. She looks back over her shoulder, swallowing hard, and grips the door handle hard before she speaks next. “If it had been you...I don’t know what I would have done. I’d be lost without you.”

His eyes widen, large and blue and open as the sea, and her heart thumps in her chest.

“You know I love you, Phil,” she whispers, and there’s a few long, heavy beats of silence between them before she smiles sadly, and backs out of the office, leaning back against the door, closing her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill before she moved quickly down the hall for her bunk.

V. Act Five

“Here’s what I think we should do. When we get out of this mess, we take a couple steps back, we start again. Then, when it feels right, we open another bottle,” Phil’s face is open, and Melinda feels something warm pool in her chest. After everything they’ve gone through- all the pain of the Framework, the agony Radcliffe had put them through; they deserved this. A second chance.

“Deal,” she nods, unable to help the soft upward curve of her lips. Phil’s expression mirrored hers, and Melinda feels her heart pick up speed in her chest.

“See you on the other side,” he said, nodding to her, and Melinda returns it, cocking her gun. They moved to each fork of the tunnel until Melinda paused, swallowing, and turned her head over her shoulder.

“Phil?” she called, knowing this would be easier to say if they weren’t face to face. “Just...come back alive. I love you.”

She keeps walking, not waiting for an answer, and feels something lift from her shoulders.

VI. Act Six

The smell of sunscreen and ocean air fills the cabana, and Phil’s fingers running through her hair are near enough to lull Melinda to sleep.

Contentment laces through her, soft and gentle as the tide lapping against the sand a few yards away, and she turns her face further against Phil’s face, sun-warm against her cheek. The meshed-in porch where the hammock they’d ensconced themselves caught just enough sun to keep them drowsy and warm without burning.

They spent less and less time away from the cabana- Melinda could see how it tired Phil, to stand for periods of time longer than a few minutes, so they rarely ventured far.

She could feel him tiring him even now; the motion of his fingers in her hair grew slowly; clumsier, tangling further in the dark locks. Melinda doesn’t mind, feeling him drift off beside her as his body relaxed further against hers.

“I love you,” Melinda whispers against the soft summer breeze, and the words only hurt a little as they pass her lips, pressed to Phil’s shoulder. All she receives in response is Phil’s chest lifting and falling in his sleeping breaths, but it’s enough.

Each breath felt like a gift, and Melinda took them gratefully, palm resting over his frailly beating heart.

VII. Act Seven

Daisy’s face still echoes in her mind as she comes to slowly, and it takes her a moment to realize no part of her hurts. Frowning, she cracks open her eyes gingerly, her surroundings a blinding white, and sits up with a hand against her middle- no longer was it bleeding from the stab wound Sarge had given her.

“Melinda.”

She startles at the voice, familiar deep down to her bones, but she’s unable to trust it after Sarge. Her gaze slowly shifts to its source, but the moment her eyes rest on him, she knows it can’t be anyone but _her_ Phil.

“ _Phil?_ ” she asks, pushing herself to her feet and making her way to him, unable to stop herself from sliding her fingers over his arms, knees nearly buckling at the way his fingers instantly curled around her elbows in response. “Where am I?”

“Wherever...after is,” he answers, and Melinda swallows, eyes widening.

“You mean…”

“I mean welcome to Club Dead, honey,” he says, and Melinda can’t help the damp chuckle that elicits, her grip on him tightening. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve thought about you every day,” Melinda whispered, fingers lifting to trace over the cut of his jaw, unable to stop the tears that filled her eyes. “I know you asked me to move on, and live my life, but Phil it’s been so hard. All I wanted was you back.”

Phil’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his hand coming up to stroke through her hair, and Melinda leaned into the touch, relishing it as her eyes slipped shut. It was everything she’d thought about for the last year, and the words she’d longed to say every day since she’d lost him bubbled up.

“I love you,” she murmured, opening her eyes back up, watching the way his blue eyes softened.

But as his lips parted in his response, the brightness around her began to dim, and Melinda felt sensation begin to seep back into her body. Pain radiated through her middle, and she doubled over, clutching at Phil’s arms.

“No!” she cried out, trying to keep her hold on Phil as she felt him slipping away. “No, let me stay! I want to stay!”

Desperation let her cling to him another moment longer, and the last memory she had was of his eyes, watching her fade away from him once more.

VIII. Act Eight

Melinda doesn’t truly understand the mechanics of it.

Jemma gave her a lot of techno-babble and science-speak that Melinda stopped paying attention to midway through, if she’s being honest. None of it matters- not anymore.

Not the minute she knows everything is better; is right- is how it’s supposed to be, and the Phil walks towards her isn’t an LMD, or Sarge, or dying. A Phil that’s whole and complete and hers, and she doesn’t even have time to speak before his hands are cupping her face, twining in her hair as he lowers his mouth to hers.

Tears slide down her cheeks as she clutches at him, feeling her knees buckle, but he holds her firm, and when they part, his eyes are warm. Melinda’s lips part to speak, but Phil beats her to it, resting his forehead against hers.

“I love you, Melinda.”

It’s four simple words, but they burst like fireworks in her chest, warm and bright and colorful. She gasps out a little laugh, her hands moving to touch his face, tracing the lines around his eyes.

“I love you. I love you too,” she whispers, touching her mouth to his again, short and soft and sweet. “Don’t go away again. Please.”

“Never again,” he murmurs, shaking his head and slipping his arms around her waist, holding her against him. “Never without you.”

It’s all the promise she needs.


End file.
